


wherever you are

by onlyeverthus



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyeverthus/pseuds/onlyeverthus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd recognize those red trainers anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wherever you are

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [we end before we begin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5332436)

When she sees him again she's standing outside of a bookstore in Paris, scanning the titles in the window and debating with herself over if she should buy one or not. She reads French better than she speaks it, but the headache that sometimes results is not always worth the effort.

She turns from the window, deciding against the book, and runs smack into the man standing next to her.

The apology dies in her throat when she sees his shoes, the scuffed red trainers with the dirty white laces she'd know anywhere. She raises her eyes to his face and can actually feel her knees go weak, something she always thought only happened in bad romance novels.

"Hello," he says softly.

She can't decide whether she wants to cry or hit him or possibly even throw up, but in the end she does none of these things.

"Hello," she replies just as quietly.

A few minutes later they're sitting at a table outside of a café, coffee for her, tea for him. Neither of them has said anything yet and she finds that she can't stop staring at him. He hasn't changed much in two years. His hair's a touch longer, though still just as crazy and there are a few more freckles splashed across his cheeks, but he's basically the same man he was then.

"You look good," he says finally. "Your hair's longer."

"Yeah," she says, absently tucking it behind her ears.

"It's nice. It's like when we..." He trails off but she knows the end: _It's like when we first met._

"You look good too," she murmurs, sipping her coffee, adding more sugar. "Where... where did you go?"

"All over," he replies, toying with his spoon, clinking it against the side of his mug. "Saw the world's biggest ball of twine."

He grins and she doesn't. His smile fades and he lowers his eyes.

She opens her mouth to speak, then falters, pressing her lips into a thin line as she takes a deep breath through her nose.

"I would've gone with you," she says quietly. "If you'd asked."

"I know."

"But you didn't."

"No."

The blunt negative hangs there in the air and the silence grows heavier.

"Why?" she asks finally.

"Why what?"

A short laugh escapes her lips as she shakes her head. "Why didn't you ask me to go with you? Why didn't you tell me you didn't want to get married? Why did you _ask me_ in the first place?" She swipes angrily at the tears that fall from her eyes. "Why did I spend the last two years wondering what I did wrong, wondering why you thought you couldn't be happy with me? Why have I spent the last two years trying to get over you and spending every day-" Her voice breaks and she places a shaking hand over her eyes.

"Rose- " he starts and she holds up her hand.

"-for spending _every single day_ wondering where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay, if you were even _alive_... I can't do this here."

She stands abruptly, wiping away the tears on her cheeks, even though more fall in their place, and fumbles in her purse a moment before tossing a coin on the table.

She turns and starts down the sidewalk, but doesn't get far before she turns and comes back.

"Tell me this," she says. "Did you think about me at all?"

"Every single day," he replies without hesitation.

She stares at him a moment, unsure if this is the answer she wanted to hear, and then turns and walks away again.

 

 

There's a knock at her door when she emerges from the shower later that night and she frowns, cinching the belt of her bathrobe as she moves to the door.

He's standing there when she opens it and her frown deepens.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Because it's where we stayed the last time we were here. I remembered you saying how much you loved it."

She doesn't answer and he raises his eyebrows at her.

"Can I come in?"

She considers him for a moment and then turns away, moving to sit down on the bed. He follows her into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Why are you here?" she asks as she towels her hair.

"We have to talk."

"So talk," she says, standing to toss the towel back into the bathroom.

"You wanted to know why I asked you to marry me," he says, turning to watch her rummage through her suitcase for something before disappearing back into the bathroom. "I asked because I thought that's what you wanted."

The bathroom door opens and she steps out, wielding a comb in her hand and frowning at him.

"Why did you think that's what I wanted?" she asks as she pushes past him, sinking onto the bed again as she starts to comb through her damp hair.

"I don't know," he replies, throwing his arms out at his sides. "But the deeper I got into it... I just got scared. That's why I ran. That's why I've been running my entire life. The idea of having to settle down, to turn domestic, to stop running... I couldn't do it."

"I didn't care about being married or settling down or turning domestic," she says, wincing as the comb snags a knot. "I wanted to be with you. That's all I ever wanted."

"I know that now, and all I can say is I'm an idiot, and I'm sorry."

She stands, throwing the comb down on the bedside table. "So what about the part where you thought about me every day for two years and never bothered to drop me a line, saying where you were or if you were okay?"

"I honestly thought you were happier without me and then so much time had passed... I was afraid to."

"Right, the fear again," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm a coward, Rose, what do you want me to say? He left me on that beach, he _abandoned_ me and I was so angry and I couldn't handle it."

"He abandoned me too!" she cries. "I spent all that time trying to find him and then he just dumps me back on that stupid beach and I was angry too, but I had you. Or at least I thought I did, until you abandoned me too. On a beach, no less," she adds, laughing humorlessly.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I don't know what else to say other than that I am just... so sorry." He pauses and stares sadly at her, his shoulders slumped. "I never stopped loving you."

She sighs and starts to speak when he strides forward, takes her face in his hands, and presses his lips to hers.

"I've wanted to do that for so long now," he murmurs, his lips brushing against hers, his fingers soft on her skin.

She wants to pull away, to tell him that he can't just expect to kiss her and make everything all better, but she can feel her resolve weakening as his thumbs stroke her cheeks.

She pulls him down and kisses him again, her fingers yanking his shirt from his trousers. He lifts his arms, allowing her to pull it over his head before burying his fingers in her hair and covering her mouth with his. His hands drift down to the sash on her robe and his fingers make quick work of the knot, tugging it loose and slipping his hands inside the robe. He touches bare skin, soft and still warm from her shower, and he pushes the robe from her shoulders, his hands drifting to her hips as he slowly pushes her back towards the bed.

The rest of his clothes are gone almost before she can blink and he's on the bed with her, hands caressing her legs, hips, belly, breasts, and all the inches of her body that have missed the touch of his fingertips for so long. He kisses her neck as he reaches down to grip her leg, stroking the length of her thigh. He pulls it up to rest against his waist as he slides inside of her and she grips his arms, her other leg rising, her knee brushing his rib cage as she tightens her legs around him.

The old cliché is true but never more appropriate as her fingers trace remembered paths along his back and arms and he moves as though he never forgot how to make her shiver and moan.

He kisses the space between her breasts and moves with gentle care up the swell of one, flicking his tongue over her nipple and making her gasp. His lips curve as he presses them to hers again and she grips his hair with one hand. Her other hand is on his back and she can feel his muscles as they move together, imagines that he's grown stronger, and she wonders again, though vaguely and without much interest at this particular moment, what he did while he was away.

Her hands drift to his lower back as she feels the heat beginning to spread within her, her legs tightening around him, her toes beginning to curl. He steals the cry that escapes her lips, the sound merging with that of his own climax, and they lay quietly for a minute, the only sound that of their breathing and the muffled rush of cars on the street outside.

When they finally move and shift their positions on the bed, her head is on the pillows and his is down by her feet, his fingers brushing against the smoothness of her legs, staring as though captivated.

"I'm still mad at you," she says finally, watching the movements of his hands.

"Clearly," he says, unable to hide his smirk and she smacks his leg.

"I am. Don't think that you coming here and apologizing and us having a shag is going to even come close to making up for what you did to me."

He nods and kisses her knee before moving up to lie down beside her.

"I know, and I promise I will show you every day how truly sorry I am."

She turns her head to look at him and he kisses her gently, and he's unable to keep still even now, his fingers continuing their ceaseless motion on her stomach.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to forgive me?" he asks, his eyes on her face, studying her profile.

"I don't know," she murmurs.

He nods, accepting this, and then raises his eyes to her face again.

"Do you still love me?"

She sighs and her lips twitch, curving into a gentle smile that is somehow sweet and rueful at the same time.

"I feel like I've loved you my entire life."

He grins and kisses her again before whispering, "Me too."

 

 

She awakes the next morning to the first few rays of sunlight streaming into the room and realizes that she's alone.

She sits up in bed, clutching the sheet to her chest, and stares around the room, looking for any sign of his presence.

A small part of her wonders if she dreamed the whole thing but she knows that she didn't, can still feel the ghost of his fingers on her body, the touch of his lips to her skin, and angry tears begin to rise in her eyes again.

And then the door opens and he walks into the room, a paper bag in one hand, two cups balanced one on top of the other in the other hand, and a newspaper under his arm.

A laugh escapes her throat and he looks over at her, his eyebrows raised.

"I bought breakfast."

She shakes her head, smiling despite the damnable tears that fall from her eyes, and he stares at her, concerned.

"I thought you'd left again."

He shakes his head, setting down all the things he's holding and moving over to the bed, crawling on his knees to sit in front of her.

"I thought I'd be back before you woke up. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," she says, and then smiles, pointing a finger at him. "For this, not the other."

"Fair enough," he says, grinning as he leans forward to kiss her.

She grips the front of his shirt and falls back against the pillows, pulling him with her. They laugh and he kisses the tip of her nose, one hand resting on her hip, caressing her skin through the fabric of the sheet.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks, close enough now so that she could count all of his new freckles if she so wished.

She shrugs her shoulders and smiles softly.

"Wherever you are."  



End file.
